Young Poet

Your spark will flare again, time will release you, darkness turn to grey, light like water run eternally on etching a path into the healing sun.

The gifts you bring unquenchably will flower, the words you’re weaving now are dust compared to the poetry you’ll bring back to this day. Yours is the luck of youth, its dark and guilt, trapped a while between childhood’s black and white and the heavy cloak of adulthood’s chilling grey.